Fencing Academy Pt. 04

A VERY IMPORTANT Author's Note

First of all, I want to thank you guys for sticking with me so far. This story has a rather high story/sex ratio, so I'm gratified that, so far, the response has been extremely positive. I don't typically respond to comments, but believe me I read them and appreciate them greatly.

It has been a lifelong dream of mine to write professionally, and I've often fantasized about publishing. Normally, with just a few stories such talk of "e-books" would be extremely premature. However, an opportunity has come up, something I can't just ignore, and basically, I need to make a decision on what I want to do with FA sooner than expected. I've decided, in one way or another, I'd like to publish Fencing Academy.

I've talked to both my previous volunteer editors about this and they're both supportive. However, I want to be fair to you guys. The last thing I want to do is disrespect you but cutting you guys out, leaving you wondering what's going on, feeling like your wishes have been ignored. I hate it when authors do this to their base and I don't plan on doing it myself. So, I want to talk to you plainly what this will entail. While your feedback is invaluable and will be taken into account, ultimately, the decision is my own and I have to do what's best for me. If I didn't, Fencing Academy will never finish anyway and that's bad for everyone.

I won't lie, there is some self-interest at stake here. At this stage of my life, I could really use the money. More intangibly, this is an opportunity to break into a career I love, something I can't easily pass up. But, it is important to me that I write the best story I can possibly write, and I believe that this is the best way to do that. Publishing will allow me to make a far more cohesive work than I could possibly put together simply posting piecemeal to Literotica. A disadvantage of writing serially like this is that whatever you've written previously is set in stone. If I want to take the story in a more interesting direction, or perhaps alter something that isn't working, I can't. The whole story is weaker.

And I must say: personally, I'm really excited about this. I'm eager to revisit my earlier chapters and really revise them to make a strong story. I'm excited about seeing my work finally make the jump to book form. To craft a story that excites people is everything I have worked my life for.

In any case, I hope, when these stories come to a close, there will several books worth of erotic and character-based storytelling with intricate plotting. But you should know the implication of this decision would be that I could no longer post new chapters to Literotica.

Fencing Academy is something of an experiment. I wanted to see if I could write an erotic fantasy where the sexual elements were integral to the story, a plot which could have appeal to both men and women, a work that could not only stand as a good piece of erotica but as good piece of fantasy, and have neither of those things detract from one another. No matter what happens, I'm committed to that vision and I only hope you enjoy Fencing Academy in whatever form it takes in the future.

Anyways, please leave a comment. I'll take into consideration all your feedback, I hope for your blessing in this but again, ultimately the decision is my own. I hope, even if I didn't take the option you most wanted, we can still respect each other.

Edited by Redscaledknight. Lock your doors. Hide your daughters.

P.S. If I decide to publish FA, I will let you know in my Author's profile and my blog.

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In her nightly walks Sara found herself wandering far from her school. At this time, even the boulevards behind the Golden Gate were dangerous, but the vagabonds took up a decidedly rakish flavor. Lounging about were gangs composed of bored nobles, ruffians of a more professional sort, streetwalkers clinking with steel beneath their dresses. But Sara's reputation was well known. She was rarely accosted.

Night guardsmen patrolled All Saints Square, their boots echoing on the cobble road. The cathedral loomed like a gothic mountain, casting a black moonshadow. Some ways south the ring wall stood, and behind that the Ducal Palace, with all of its proud ministries dormant and dark. The gate guardsmen halted Sara.

"Papers?" he said from beneath a droopy mustache.

You know me, Tom, she thought to herself as she obediently fished her vest for a sheaf of crumpled documents.

Tom gave them a cursory look, his mustache twitching. "Looks good. How your students doing?"

Tom had a strange habit of pretending all passing were strangers until the proper documents were shown in full. It would be more annoying if he wasn't so endearing afterward.

"Still cutting themselves on their own swords," smiled Sara.

"That's a relief to 'ear. So's my son, y'see, and it makes me hope 'e isn't as stupid as 'e seems."

"I'm sure that's not true. If you send him over to the school, I'll give him a free lesson. One free lesson."

"'e'll be 'appy with that, though it don't make a dumb boy smart in a day methinks. Well, enough mouthboxing, off with ye."

She knew Fiona had a private studio in the palace grounds. It was, in theory, a training hall to teach the Ducal family the martial arts, but Adriana had elected to attend a school instead: her school. Since then Fiona went there when she had nothing else to do. Fiona once told her she used it to meditate on her swordsmanship.

The air had the bite of salt and dew as always, and as she passed the tree-filled planters and tended curbs erupted a riot of cricket chirps. She strode past the barracks and entered the palace proper by a servant's entrance. She knocked on the studio door

"Who's that?" said Fiona beyond the door, in a huff of annoyance.

"It's me," said Sara to the door.

Sara heard Fiona shuffling stiffly. She had been perhaps kneeling, or reclining on the ground. "Hold on a second."

Fiona opened the door after dragging her feet. Her eyepatch seemed a little crooked, and her remaining eye was crumpled as if it had recently been closed. The silver streak in her hair fell unfashionably across her brow.

"Got through the guards again?" she said blearily.

Sara brushed her nails on her bolero. "Didn't need to. You were the one who was unwise enough to sponsor my security clearance."

Fiona nodded, arms folded. "I suppose you'd like to spar."

Sara wandered in the room. Sara at one point would have once been envious of Fiona's studio, with the waxy hardwood floors on which her boot clicked pleasantly, to the high ceilings and broad archways. Now, Sunderland had the greatest fencing studio in Rotham, perhaps the world. Royalty would have little finer. "You supposed right."

It took a few moments for Fiona to set up the chess set.

It was a checkered table with folding legs, beneath it two drawers with pieces. Both the women set their ranks. Sara happened to have white. She arrayed the marble pieces in front of her. Fiona's pieces were of a veiny red color.

Sara pushed her queen's pawn up two spaces. Fiona met her piece in the center with her own pawn. Sara played her second pawn.

"Queen's gambit," said Fiona.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

Fiona sniffed, appraising the move while tugging on her eyepatch. "You're very predictable."

"It is a good opening," said Sara.

"It is a boring opening." Fiona captured the bishop's pawn, pushing it dismissively on its side.

Sara pushed her king's pawn forward one space. "Perhaps you are predictable, in your unpredictable way."

Fiona cocked an eyebrow, her chin resting on her knitted hands. "Hmm?"

"Your defiance for conventions means you make 'interesting' moves in favor of tried, tested one. It is a weakness."

Fiona's gaze returned to the board. "In war equal sides are rare."

Sara smirked. "Chess is not war."

Fiona pushed a pawn up to defend her attacking pawn.

"That's a bad move," remarked Sara with a frown.

Fiona winked with her remaining eye. "It is, but it's an interesting one. Let's see how what happens when you can't rely on memorizing your precious openings."

There was a flurry of exchanges, and Fiona used her lack of pawns to develop her minor pieces quickly. Sara was ahead in material, but Fiona controlled more of the board.

Fiona look pleased with herself. "Your problem, if I might say Sara, is that you've no real world experience. Only one of us has been an actual battlefield commander."

Sara moved her bishop up. It positioned itself temptingly diagonal to a pawn, in capture range. "This is a game."

"I can tell," said Fiona, capturing the bishop with pawn, "For one, your bishop isn't writhing on the ground, screaming for his mother."

Sara's fingers dangled over her knight, before electing to capture the pawn with the swoop of her queen. "You're too focused on what you think you know, Fiona."

Fiona smirked, and captured the queen with a leaping knight. "Some general principles apply to all games of strategy."

"You don't like to sacrifice your pieces, do you? You like to bring them all home, to their wives and children." Sara pushed her remaining bishop up. "Check."

Fiona frowned. "Even pawns deserve that." She moved her king out of check, before tapping on the piece's crown dismissively. "Why is the king the weakest piece? What sort of king is it that expects their queen to do the fighting for them?"

"A smart king, perhaps." Fiona moved her bishop again. "Check. And checkmate in three."

Fiona moved a pawn to block the bishop. Sara move a knight up to take advantage of the newly undefended space. "Checkmate in two."

Fiona pushed her rook forward.

"Checkmate in—" Sara's mouth suddenly twisted as she took in the move Fiona had just made. "That was a good move. I didn't see that."

Fiona leaned back in her chair, a triumphant grin on her face. "And you're the one with two eyes, Sara."

"This will be a long game," muttered Sara, looking at the board with renewed interest.

"We will need some wine," said Fiona

As Fiona produced two wine glasses and a bowl of olives, Sara did a close examination of the board. By the time she came back, Sara seemed to have decided on a move, but she seemed less certain than normal as she retreated her bishop behind a line of pawns.

Fiona crunched on an olive as she made her next move. "Is there something on your mind?"

Sara looked up at her from the board. "What do you mean?"

"You seem pensive."

Sara laughed and took a sip of wine. "I would hope so, I'm playing chess."

Fiona rolled her eyes, and said, "Don't get smart."

Sara's smile faded and she seemed to accept the distraction from the game. It still took her a while to respond. "In the past five years, I've had a very good record."

"Of?"

"Of students not killing each other," said Sara, quickly moving a piece. "Before then, it seemed like every year, there'd be one, or several, death-duels."

"That's the nature of young people," observed Fiona, no longer paying any attention to the game, "They're impatient. They don't understand anything."

Sara nodded. "It is a sad thing, when there can only be one graduation each year, but no limit to the number of funerals... By the way, has Adriana considered my proposal to ban death-duels?"

"She's looking at the edict," shrugged Fiona, "but men do love their fighting."

Sara continued after a sip of wine. "Anyway, five years ago, I undertook a new policy. A successful policy, I might add, that has reduced the number killings each year. My new policy is this: if two of my male students challenge each other to combat..." Sara popped an olive in her mouth, noisily chewed on it, then swallowed. "...I fuck them."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "There's your Solissian morals, there."

Sara might have been offended if Fiona had been Zachonian herself. But she is Svandian by blood, and a religious minority: a Martellian. In a land surrounded by strange foreigners with odd beliefs, it came to be a relief to be around non-Zachonians, even if they weren't Solissian. "They're better than Zachonian morals," said Sara bluntly, "In any case, you wouldn't believe how amenable men become after they're properly sexed."

"Oh no, I definitely know that," laughed Fiona.

"An unsexed man is an angry one, I've found," continued Sara.

Fiona lifted an eyebrow. "Are you worried about this class?"

Sara's mouth twisted. She made a quick sip of her wine and put it down. "Marcus almost challenged another student, Tom Hawker."

Fiona's face didn't twitch, but it darkened all the same. "I see. What stopped him?"

"Adriana's fist."

"Whoa," breathed Fiona. Just imagining the impressive wound to Marcus's pride caused her to sit straight.

Sara nodded with a lifted eyebrow. "I know."

Fiona finally made a move on the chessboard. "Who is this Tom Hawker? And why shouldn't I kick the shit out of him?"

"Tom is a commoner. A performance duelist with a sharp tongue. I've paired him with Marcus to get him to grow a thicker skin."

"And it was this sharp tongue that almost got him in trouble?" asked Fiona.

Sara nodded. "And Marcus's sensitivity. And unimpeachable pride. And his prudish morals. And everything else wrong with Marcus."

"Marcus is a sweet boy, though," said Fiona.

"I know. It is the sweet ones always die," sighed Sara, putting her knight in a defensive position.

Fiona's attention drifted back to the game for while, and it took her a long time to make a move. When she did, it was an aggressive one.

"Will you try and bed Marcus?" asked Fiona. It seemed like she had been thinking about the question for a while.

Sara seemed very uncertain, but Fiona couldn't tell if it was about the game or the question. "I don't think so. Marcus is not that sort of person."

"What about this Hawker fellow?"

"Already done." Sara made her move. Another defensive one. "The Hawker boy wants to impress Lyza Dunwall, though. He fancies her. Even though they look very alike, it sends me shivers."

Fiona looked at the board. "Does Lyza like him back?"

Sara shrugged. "Who knows. They deserve each other..." Sara considered something, and added: "I worry about Lyza too."

Fiona looked at Sara with interest. "Hmm?"

"Lyza has a black heart," said Sara.

Fiona made a move. "She is a worthy successor to Margaret Fey, then."

Sara considered Fiona's statement. "I can see that, but there are some differences. Danger made Margaret hot, she went off pursuing it so she could diddle herself afterward. Lyza, on the other hand, is full of murderous hatred, always obsessed with... killing. The other day I had Lyza and Adriana sparring. They were, on a technical level, quite good. But they weren't fighting. Adriana just enjoyed swinging a sword. Lyza, on the other hand, she was practicing for a different sort of bout."

Fiona lifted an eyebrow, and Sara explained:

"At any time, Lyza could have struck Adriana in quartata from an obvious opening, but she didn't."

Fiona leaned back and looked at Sara with interest. "Really."

Sara looked out on the darkness outside the studio. She discovered herself biting her thumbnail. When she looked at it, it was jagged and deformed from teethmarks. "She told me later she was waiting for a killing blow."

"She does know she only needs to bleed them, right?"

"Exactly," said Sara. "It's almost as if she's an..."

....assassin.

That was the magic word. The word that would set Fiona off into Lyza's path, and most likely into one or the other's death. But the gravity of it made it heavy in her throat; Sara couldn't say it. Instead, the thumbnail returned to her teeth.

"...a what?" asked Fiona.

"A fool," finished Sara, angrily moving a piece.

"You're the fool if you continue playing like this," sighed Fiona, immediately capturing it.

Sara's heart was no longer in the game. She didn't even look down to see Fiona's capture. Instead, she looked pensively out the window.

Fiona frowned, noting Sara's lack of interest, and with a playful push knocked down her king.

"I forfeit," said Fiona. "Let's sit back, pour ourselves another bottle, and chat."

Sara nodded. She still had a concerned look on her face, but she had brightened somewhat. "That sounds fun. What are you thinking about?"

Fiona lifted her glass, and declared, slowly and dramatically, "I am thinking about how we became the sexiest women in Rotham. To the two Furies."

Sara finally broke a smile, and took her glass. "To the two remaining Furies."

They both took great mouthfuls of wine, and winced as they swallowed.

Fiona rose her glass again, declaring, "To Margaret Fey. May she finally find the fight she was looking for."

Sara followed Fiona's toast with a bemused smile. "To Margaret Fey!"

They took another deep drink. The two empty wine glasses were set on the chessboard hard enough to knock some of the pieces over, pawns made circular orbits around the battlefield. A warmth began to permeate Sara's insides.

Fiona poured herself a third glass. "Forty-four years old, Sara. Unmarried, no children, amazing career. And paradoxically, thoroughly fucked. My mother's worst nightmare is come true."

Sara smiled as she watched Fiona sip at the wine. "Funny. That's was my mother's dream for me."

Fiona suddenly looked guilty. "Ah. I'm sorry I brought that up."

Sara had a thin smile. "I was making a joke. Relax." When it was clear Fiona was not getting more comfortable, she asked, "If you could change one thing, Fiona, what would it be?"

Fiona looked thoughtful as she took a mouthful of wine. "You'd think me selfish if I said it."

Sara laughed. "This is a selfish topic."

"True, true..." she repeated, looking down. She seemed to debate herself whether she should say what was on her mind, when she suddenly confided, "I guess... I guess I would have liked to have fought in a bigger war."

Sara was surprised. "I never thought of you as someone who relished that sort of thing."

Fiona waved her hand defensively. "No... no. I should say, I wish I fought a better war. I mean... I suppose trade routes are important to any empire. But... I don't know." Fiona suddenly became quite expressive, gesturing with enthusiasm. "OK, so, think of it this way. Artisia's first female officer was against in their war against us— Lady... Dolese... I believe. What a hero she was, holding off the hordes of Zachonian scum and what not. But me..." she prodded herself insistently, "I'm Zachon's Lady Dolese. I'm the first female officer we've ever had. But what do I get? A squabble over some icebergs with Sladost."

Sara nodded. "A very bloody squabble over icebergs."

"Aye," agreed Fiona, her eyes drifting, "bloody indeed."

Sara leaned back, recovering from the ingestion of so much wine. "Do you think Margaret could have beaten you?" she asked.

Fiona leaned down and picked up the second bottle off the floor. "You're sounding like the newspapers, Sara."

"You can't say you're not curious."

Fiona nodded absently. She plunged the corkscrew into the bottle's neck and began to work the cork out. "I am, I suppose. But I would never do anything to please those bloodthirsty columnists."

Sara looked at the dregs at the bottom of her glass as she thought. Most papers had a page devoted to duels: schedules of upcoming fights, descriptions of battles won and lost, but most annoyingly, endless speculation on who would win a particular bout. Several years ago, a writer with the unfortunate name Anselmo Pottage began to write obsessively about female duelists. He identified Fiona Nyvall, Sara Sunderland and Margaret Fey as the best female fencers in Rotham, and nicknamed the three of them "the Furies". The title itself annoyed Sara, but what incensed her was when Anselmo began to write vividly of vicious rivalry between them. Sunderland called Nyvall this, Nyvall named Sunderland a that, and a duel between them would be inevitable.